


angels are bright still

by Lise



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, POV Thor (Marvel), Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Ragnarok aka Thor Has a Bad Week and I Just Made it Worse, Tearjerker, killing characters for fun and profit, that's a whole bunch of sad tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 13:22:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13482363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lise/pseuds/Lise
Summary: "Asgard burned, and it was somehow fitting that Loki received such a grand funeral pyre."Loki doesn't make it out of Asgard alive. Once again, Thor grieves.





	angels are bright still

**Author's Note:**

> As a means of distracting myself from all the many, many spinning plates I have of long and challenging WIPs, I asked for whump prompts on my Tumblr. This was one of them, and it's been a while (sort of) since I wrote a good, juicy, character death fic. Also I guess I like making Thor sad? Or killing Loki. Or both. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and if you like what I do I am also over on [Tumblr](http://veliseraptor.tumblr.com) talking a whole lot about Loki and sometimes some other stuff.

Thor watched Asgard burn from the bridge of the Sakaaran ship. Surtur’s fire, all-consuming, devouring the city.

No: he watched the ship, docked at the door to the palace. Waiting for it to take off. Waiting for another miraculous escape. So he saw it consumed, melting and then swallowed entirely by flames.

He heard himself make a small sound, quickly cut off.  _A trick,_ he thought.  _It’s a trick. Like before, so he can run, yet again._

In his heart he knew it wasn’t true.

Asgard burned, and it was somehow fitting that Loki received such a grand funeral pyre.

* * *

There was so much to do that Thor scarcely had a chance to take a breath.

He threw himself into the work with a vengeance: organizing medical care for the wounded, assigning people to monitor supplies, finding engineers who could ensure that this ancient ship continued to function for as long as it took to get to Earth. Heimdall was an invaluable help; Thor told him, half joking, that he should take on the kingship himself.

“I wouldn’t want it,” Heimdall said, entirely serious. Thor could understand that. Thinking back to not so long ago when he had thought of the throne as a bauble to be claimed, he could not believe how young he’d been.

It was only when he finally sat down and took a breath that he let himself think of Loki.

Some part of him still thought  _he must be alive somewhere._ Some part of him, Thor thought, would never quite believe that he was gone. Somehow he’d survived Svartalfheim, and there Thor had held his seemingly lifeless body. Was he to believe that this time…

But there was no reason that he should have run off now. That he should not have come back. He’d come to join Thor, to fight alongside him, to turn from the path he’d been walking. He’d gone - Thor had sent him - to unleash Surtur. Had he died in the violent moment of the fire giant’s release? Or had he been running for the ship, inches from it when the conflagration caught up?

There was no point in wondering. No point. There were only two important (unavoidable, inescapable) facts: Loki was dead, and Thor had sent him to it.

Loki had chosen, of course. It would be unfair to take that away. But Thor felt the weight of it nonetheless.

* * *

Valkyrie found him holding two bottles of indeterminate origin, holding one out awkwardly in his direction. “Here,” she said. “Sorry about your brother.”

Thor looked at her for a few moments before taking it and cracking it open. It tasted somehow both over-sweet and too bitter.  _Perfect_ , Thor thought.

“He died well,” Thor said after a moment, and then laughed roughly. “For the second time. Dying well, that is. This is the third time.”

Her eyebrows went up. “How does that work? Generally people only die once. Except for with the help of the Eternal Flame, and he didn’t  _look_ undead.”

“No,” Thor said. “No, the other two I just  _thought_ he was dead. He survived, somehow. I…can’t help but wonder if he might have survived this as well.”

“Sounds like a story,” Valkyrie said after a moment. Thor glanced at her and looked away.

“Not one I think I can tell just now.”

“That’s fair,” she said, cracking open the bottle she was holding. They drank next to each other, in silence. Thor’s throat burned for trying not to cry.

How fitting, he thought bitterly, that the moment he thought he might have his brother back, he was snatched away. The universe, of late, seemed to delight in taking what he loved.

Perhaps it was a good thing he did not have so much left to lose. At least then there was less that he needed to protect; maybe, that way, he could actually  _do_ it.

* * *

A small group came to ask that he organize a mourning ceremony for the fallen. It could not be according to the usual custom, of course, but it would be  _something,_ and Thor recognized the value of it. The necessity, for managing their grief.

When they spoke the names of the dead, though, he could not bring himself to utter Loki’s. Heimdall said it instead, his hand coming to rest on Thor’s shoulder.

He wished he had Mjolnir, that he could destroy something with it. Wished he could spar with Hulk without breaking the ship. Wished, at least, that he could unleash his lightning without fear of hurting anyone else. Instead he bowed his head and forced himself to mouth the words.

“Nor shall we mourn, but rejoice for those who have died the glorious death,” he said, and thought,  _nor shall we mourn?_

_What a hideous joke._

That night he dreamed of Loki reaching out for him, fire at his heels. “Thor!” He shouted, frantic. “Help me!”

“It’s a trick,” Thor heard himself say. “You’re not really here,” but he was already reaching out anyway, grasping Loki’s outstretched hand, solid in his. For a moment he was holding on, ready to pull, and then Loki’s hand melted through his fingers like snow in summer.

Thor woke up with a crick in his neck, tears on his face, and a headache.

He didn’t try going back to sleep.

* * *

The headache persisted. He suspected it was due to the eye Hela had taken from him. He’d grown edgy around his newly limited peripheral vision as well, and his tendency to misjudge distance, but the headache was the worst.

He caught himself longing for Loki’s talent for easing them: the way he would grumble and mutter before finally caving, touching his fingers to Thor’s temples and soothing the ache away. Every time he caught himself thinking of it brought a pang in his chest worse than the pain in his head.

It was just like the first time. And the second. Loki haunting him. Their lives had been intertwined for so long it was still hard to separate them. And now that Loki was gone, Thor almost did not want to.

He’d almost managed it. To draw himself away, to let Loki go and accept that he would do what he would, and all the pleading in the world would not change that. And then-

Cruel world.

“You are brooding,” Heimdall said, standing beside him on the bridge as he stared into the depths of space.

Thor turned, finding a smile. “It probably means I am not doing something I should be.” Heimdall just looked at him, eyebrows raised, and Thor glanced away.

“I don’t have to guess what occupies your thoughts.”

“No,” Thor agreed with a sigh. “You probably don’t.”

“Loki and I may have seldom been friends,” Heimdall said, “or even particularly friendly. But I am still sorry for his loss.”

Thor bowed his head. “He died well.”

“That’s not much of a salve to grief.”

It wasn’t. It never would be, however much Thor repeated it; he would rather Loki lived poorly, he found, than died a hero. He would rather Loki  _had_ run, gone off alone to wreak Norns-knew what mischief, than that he had burned.

What agony must it have been, for one born of ice?

Thor pushed that thought away. “It isn’t,” he said, “but it is the only one I have. And I cannot afford to grieve too heavily. My people - our people - need me to be strong.”

“And strength means a lack of feeling?” Heimdall asked, though mildly. “I think seeing your sorrow gives others permission to feel the same.”

Thor sighed. “Perhaps,” he said, though he wasn’t certain he believed it.

* * *

He didn’t know why it hit him when it did, or why it had taken so long, but it didn’t seem to be anything in particular; just the thought, suddenly blooming in his head:  _I’m the only one left._

He’d known it, of course. Had felt it in each hammer blow - it was part of what had precipitated his leaving Asgard after Malekith’s defeat. And then his father had still lived - and, though he didn’t know it, his brother. But now - his family’s deaths stuck in his throat and he fought to swallow.

The bar, when Thor found it, was empty. Which was probably for the best. He wondered how much had been there to begin with, and how much had disappeared into Valkyrie’s gullet.

He sat down, nonetheless, and eventually Val joined him.

“There’s nothing here,” he said.

“I know,” she said. “It’s still sort of comforting. I’m trying to absorb the remaining fumes.”

Thor laughed, weakly. She rolled one of her shoulders forward and back and sat down next to him.

“In the fight against Hela,” she said abruptly, “I mean, the first time around. When it was me and my sisters rather than me and…the rest of you people. The Revengers.” She was quiet for a long moment, and then seemed to shrug like she was coming to some kind of decision. “My lover died. She jumped in front of one of Hela’s swords that was coming for me. Kára. She was always telling me I was a reckless idiot.”

Thor looked toward her. “I am sorry,” he said.

“Don’t,” she said. “I don’t - I’m not saying this for  _sympathy._ Just…I don’t know. I don’t know why. I haven’t actually said her name to anyone for…well, kind of lost track of time for a while there.”

“What was she like?” Thor asked after a moment.

Val’s smile was a little, sad, twist of her mouth. “I can hardly remember,” she said. “Probably all the drinking, right? I remember that I…she had this stupid giggle. It was adorable. And she was ticklish.”

Thor stayed silent, and Valkyrie exhaled.

“Fuck,” she said. “I need a drink.”

“So do I.”

A silence fell between them. Weighted.

“It’s childish,” Thor said after a moment, “but all I can feel is that it isn’t  _fair._ ”

“It never is.” Val’s voice sounded more sober, less sarcastic, than Thor could remember hearing it.

“No,” Thor said. “I suppose it never is.”

* * *

“You said,” Loki said, sitting cross-legged in front of him in what Thor recognized as Frigga’s garden. “You said it would be better if we never saw each other again.”

“I didn’t mean you should  _die,_ ” Thor said. Loki cocked his head to the side.

“It’s habit-forming,” he said.

“I was baiting you,” Thor said. “It’s what you kept saying you wanted. Acting like you wanted.”

“Well, I didn’t,” Loki said. “Not so much.” He paused. “Didn’t I prove that?” He asked, and there was something faint, plaintive, hopeful in his voice. Thor swallowed.

“You did,” he said. He reached out a hand, but Loki wasn’t quite close enough to touch, and he couldn’t move forward.

Loki sighed. “Well,” he said, with the bare flicker of a smile. “That’s a relief.” He leaned back on his hands. “The other thing is a relief, too.”

“What other thing?”

“That you didn’t send me there to die,” Loki said simply. Thor stared at him, and Loki shrugged. “I thought it was a possibility.”

“No,” Thor said, appalled. “ _No._ Of course not. I wouldn’t - I didn’t want-”

Loki just looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Well, I didn’t necessarily think it was  _deliberate._ Just a - necessary sacrifice? You’re a king, now. That’s the sort of thing kings have to do.” Thor shook his head, muted. “Like I said,” Loki said. “A relief. I believe you.”

“Loki…” Thor groped after something. “This isn’t a dream, is it?”

“Not exactly,” Loki said. “Sort of. It’s complicated.”

“Are you-” Thor choked, awful hope rising in his chest. “Are you  _alive?_ Is that how-”

“Oh, no,” Loki said. “I’m not. I’m pretty - thoroughly dead. But you’re…” He half smiled. “I guess you’re just special.”

_Intertwined._ There were so many things Thor wanted to say. They piled up and he struggled to say anything. “Loki,” he said, and took a deep breath. “You should be here.”

“Maybe,” Loki said. “Maybe not. But you know I was never very good at  _should._ ” His smile was rueful. “I am still…glad to see you. To know you made it out. At least…that makes it worth it.” He smiled wryly. “Written any plays about me yet?”

“I am no writer.”

“No,” Loki said, “you’re right about that.” He rubbed a thumb across his lower lip, like he was still flesh and blood. Once again, Thor opened his mouth to say something, and the words caught in his throat.

“You’re going to be a great king, Thor,” Loki said. He stood up, brushing invisible dust off his pants. “I hope I don’t see you for a very long time.”

“Loki,” Thor said, and finally he could move, lurch to his feet. “Wait-”

He woke up. He could feel the hum of the ship churning through space, making its slow way forward.

_He is with Frigga,_ Thor thought, covering his eyes with one hand.  _With Odin. At peace._

But Loki had never been  _peace._ Loki had always been chaos and mischief, quicksilver, always slipping through Thor’s fingers.


End file.
